


Void of Life - Log 2

by akgerhardt



Series: Void of Life [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920s, F/M, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Reflection, Science, Self-Acceptance, Steampunk, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 18:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13464237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akgerhardt/pseuds/akgerhardt





	1. Chapter 1

 

©️2016

Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter: akgerhardt

[Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/alastairkingstongerhardt/playlist/5i6RCuRD56LynDeRbfBD5W?si=pO-CF1maTvKlDh5yxk__UQ)

  
Special thanks to Georgie (animegrandad.tumblr.com), Ash (dodo-excuse.tumblr.com), Charlotte, Catherine, Iseabail, Sid, Kael, Arte, Matt, Brianna, Tom, Marty, and every other kind soul who has given their support.

This belongs to an ebook series, currently in beta- all updates and improvements will be reflected here. I am neither an artist nor a writer, and I'm still getting the hang of this site's formatting!


	2. Chapter 2

_The memories of my childhood are like fleeting shadows._

_They come and go at random, and I wish I could reach out and grasp them._

_I've been no more successful than a man trying to hold water in his hands. It's maddening._

 

An evening in late Autumn, the sky gray and the air chilled. A brisk wind swirled around us, lifting crisp dead leaves before they could be trodden underfoot.

We spent the afternoon tending to the garden in preparation for the annual harvest. She had me pick peas and beans while she uprooted various vegetables and weeds. When we were finished for the day, she ushered the sheep and cow into their shed and I chased the chickens into their coop like the little shit I was. It was growing cold and dark, and she chided me for taking off my woolen sweater. It was so itchy…

She led me back to the cottage, toting a basket full of food and several small logs. After bolting the heavy door, she placed the timber in the hearth and lit it. I think she made some sort of tea and soup, and it gave me a runny nose. She scrubbed me vigorously in the washbasin while I whined in protest. Then I was bundled up in layers of flannel, and we read while we waited for my father to come home from the wharf. He was always tired and achy, but I’d run to him and he’d pick me up and swing me around. Then they’d sit in their rocking chairs by the fire and I’d play on the oval rug. All too soon I was dragged off to bed and tucked in under my quilts and feather comforter. We’d say prayers, and then my mother would kiss me on the forehead and douse the candle. I can still smell the wisps of smoke that drifted through the room afterwards.

 

A mild August night at the height of the Perseids, rolling down the valley and running back up again as many times as I could before dizziness and exhaustion claimed me. Walking on all fours back to the blanket where my parents lay stargazing, flopping down between them. My father laughing as he brushed pieces of grass off my clothing and hair, asking my mother what they were going to do with “this scruffy pup.” We fell into silence, listening to the insects and staring up at the sky. I almost nodded off when they shouted excitedly. My eyes widened as a great green-tinged meteor flew over us, leaving fading trails of purple and blue dust littered with specks of white. My mother told me to make a wish, but I was too preoccupied with trying to find out what the dickens it was. “A falling star,” they said. I followed up with a barrage of anxious questions to which they ran out of answers, but they assured me that it wasn’t dangerous.

“Listen, Ally: learnin’ is good, but you don’t havta know everything! Wasn’t it pretty?” my mother chirped.

“I’m lookin’ at a far prettier sight,” my father murmured, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “All my wishes have already come true.”

 

A visit to the shore, climbing around a jetty wet with seaweed to investigate the tidal pools and their inhabitants. Catching a glimpse of a shiny object further out, I approached it excitedly, ignoring my parents’ calls. I plunged my hand into the crevice and retrieved a rusty pocket watch, jumping around to show them. The next wave knocked me off balance, rock grazing me with a deep leg gash as I slipped. My head went underwater, but I clutched the treasure stubbornly. My father pulled me up and carried me back, and my mother used one of my kneesocks as a makeshift tourniquet, cursing all the while in Welsh. They hauled me to the doctor for stitches and confiscated the water-logged apparatus to teach me a lesson… I can't say I learned anything, though. I was awful; not once did I even apologize.

For my birthday, they got it fixed, and I've kept it on me ever since.

 

One snowy night, my father returned with a crate full of abandoned kittens. They were the only animals we let in the house, sans an ill hen or two. Once they had grown, most of them left for the countryside, but the grey and white one stayed and became my companion. Sophie was silky soft and she never bit or scratched. I loved her beyond words.

 

I spent every Sunday at church classes. My parents usually went out to town to trade at the market and enjoy their day of rest.

It was a warm, sunny spring afternoon when the pastor interrupted our lesson, ushering me outside. The birds were singing, and flowers were in bloom all around the hill where the small chapel resided. He led me past the wrought-iron fence in silence.

Then he stopped in the yard, towering over me. Said they were called back to heaven, and I’d see them again someday if I was good. I wasn’t stupid, but I didn’t comprehend what he was telling me. It wasn’t real; it had to be a nightmare. No harm could ever befall them.

I kept these thoughts to myself- he was quite the intimidating figure. A sense of despair washed over me, and I felt like I was burning with fever. A couple tears escaped, but the rest I bottled up.

 

I don’t remember much of what happened after that. Just sitting in drab buildings with strangers, files, and switchboards, someone telling me to pack up my favorite knickknacks, and standing on a smelly dock, waiting to board a ship. They didn’t want me to bring Sophie, but I put up such a fuss that they finally relented. Another person handed my parcel of papers to the steward and informed me that I was going to have two last names now.

 

When I met her, the smoggy streets made me cough and her weird perfume made me sneeze. She was an old maid who wore fancy dresses and talked very little. She was alright, I guess, but she made it clear that she did not want to raise me. Her house was huge, with expensive decor, servants, and a fluffy tan cat who hid from everyone. She sent me off to a boarding school once I turned five.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

A wardrobe of tailor-made uniform suits. Floor-to-ceiling windows, shrouded by heavy, embroidered drapes. Thick, Sicilian rugs that held faint indentations of footprints. The building was filled with a solemn, regal air. 

I felt incredibly uncomfortable, but I didn’t realize how good I had it. My only known relative had immigrated to the States decades prior, and if she hadn’t agreed to adopt me I likely would have been stuck in an orphanage or left homeless. Our property and possessions had been sold, and part of my inheritance was used to send me off. The trip took weeks, and everything was loud and gross. I never got used to the unpredictable wobbles or the absence of solid ground.

The ocean itself was beautiful, but terrifying. I’d cling to the rails and peer down at the waves as we broke through the pristine sapphire surface. Sometimes I saw fish. I remember dolphins and porpoises chasing silvery schools, and creatures I still can’t identify. Once, a humpback whale breached several yards away from me and I was struck with vertigo, stumbling backwards and fumbling for purchase on the grimy floorboards. I’d never had any phobias, but I think I get a pass for being a minuscule blip on a floaty thing surrounded by dark water miles deep.

I liked to explore and get into places that I probably shouldn’t have. Sometimes I’d just sit under the sun on a giant rope pile by a mast and watch everyone, the wind whipping around me and leaving my skin and hair salty. Someone always made sure I bathed and ate, and when Sophie couldn’t catch rats, I’d share with her. On stormy days, I hid in my cabin below deck, playing with my trinkets while she slept on the bed. I remember getting really sick for part of the trip. I was all sweaty and shivering, and I kept waking, disoriented, calling for my mother. At one point, I saw my father sitting across from me, looking concerned. I know it was just a trick of the mind... It felt real at the time, though.

Sorry, I’ve gone on another tangent. I made it from Wales to New York, was taken through the immigration process, etc etc. My great aunt sent someone to pick us up, and we went to live with her in Vermont. She cared for my cat, brought me to an ophthalmologist upon noticing that I was always squinting, and made arrangements for me to start at that ritzy boys’ boarding school in 1906, so I did, which brings me back to the beginning of this entry. I had a thick Welsh accent and odd mannerisms that the other kids poked fun at when they met me, and I was quick to overreact. I made a reputation for myself as the snobby brat who yelled and cried too easily, and those who tried to initiate friendships with me regretted it.

I pushed everyone away, and as I grew older I became more aloof. During breaks I read in corners or played alone in the yard.

When I entered my fourth year, they allowed me to keep Sophie in the dormitory, provided that I would be held accountable for her. That wasn’t an issue.

I got good marks, but what I liked best were the music lessons. See, I was a pretentious little bird, and I could “steal the stage” with my exceptionally tolerable voice. I basked in the attention and praise, improving with age. It satiated my loneliness for spells, and I became popular among those who didn’t know me.

I don’t think I was a particularly suave or eloquent man, but I studied my peers and learned what they did and did not like in a person, striving to create a well-received image. It was all just make-believe to me, mimicry and acting.

By the time I entered college, it had consumed me. I could lay on the charm and convince you that I was the cat’s pajamas, but if you got too close you would soon become disillusioned with my faux persona. I wanted companionship; I wanted to be a healthy person, but I didn’t know how it worked and I felt suffocated being around anyone for long. I couldn’t divert my attention to such a draining facade at school, but in my freetime I got tips for singing at bars. I’m not sure if there’s a word for that… entertainer is more of a catch-all term and it could imply other activities. Anyway, I auditioned and was offered a paid position at a lavish lounge called The Owl Hop, so I became a regular there. I was surrounded by throngs of patrons during and after each shift, and liquor became my crutch. I was a ridiculously delightful fellow when I was hopped up on giggle juice.           

It took the edge off and I lost all inhibitions, making jests and improvising with my new partner. She was downright phenomenal and dazzled everyone from the moment she set foot in the place.

Being instrumentally inept, I stuck to vocals. She played the harp guitar, piano, and sang: in duets, as backup, and in solos. We’d occasionally have accompaniment, but it was clear that we were the stars of each show.

I wrote a couple tunes in my dorm, but I took requests and rehearsed popular ones with her too. She sewed me a fancy double-tailed vest and taught me some moves- I was a clumsy buffoon compared to her, but it was fun. We practiced nearly every afternoon before opening and choreographed some of the performances to mix it up; our theatrics were hilarious looking back. I’m not sure if I was infatuated with her or just unfamiliar with the concept of a friend, but I found myself flirting, and she reciprocated. We danced around like that for months, until one night when she stayed late organizing her sheet music. I "helped," posed seductively on the piano and giggling like an idiot at my own jokes. Once finished, she slid me aside playfully to close the keyboard, booping my nose. With a fond smile, she said something along the lines of wanting to see me outside of the pub- sober, away from the loud crowds and distractions, alone. I slurred "sounds splenderific" before falling asleep.

It went completely fucking pear-shaped.

A Saturday morning in early December. I was ahead of my classwork and I hadn’t yet read the paper, but I was still a bundle of nerves. I strode down the faded brick path and stood under the awning of her house, dropping the brass knocker twice before shoving my hands back into the pockets of my trench coat. She came to the door, wearing no makeup for once and bundled in conservative, plain winterwear with her father by her side. I remembered that she had warned me not to mention the pub. She told him we met at her work- I just nodded along to everything and tried to keep up with the conversation.

_Yes sir, no of course not, it is an honor to be courting your lovely daughter, wait, I mean... Thank you. Haha! Oh, I didn’t think that was funny! Sorry. I would never dream of it. Alright._

We walked around the park, ignoring the chill in the air. She spoke in her usual cheery, melodic tone, making small talk to establish a rapport… but away from the safety of acquaintanceship, well, I froze up. We stood at least two feet apart at all times, but it felt too close. She wanted to get to know me, talk about things. I was stuck between rigid and charming, and my awkwardness came forth. I didn’t know what to say or do, and I caught her perplexed glances and forced smiles. I wished that I could just pull my scarf up over my face and disappear. It was painful, and I cursed my drunken self for agreeing to such a thing. I wanted it to be over, and so did she.

Of course, it didn’t end there. We tried to act as if it had never happened and resume our performances, but I quit two weeks later and found myself washed up, drafting tear-stained apology letters to her.

 

Don’t shit where you eat, folks.  

 


	4. Chapter 4

_“The universe is composed of matter and energy. They come in many forms, but nothing can exist without them.”_

In my second year at Champlain, I decided that this was simpleton’s logic and set out to disprove it. You might have heard of the concepts of dark matter and dark energy- they have only recently been acknowledged by mainstream science. In my day, having such theories might’ve implied that you were delusional. As such, it was difficult to convince the board to support my endeavors.

You see, I believed that particle acceleration and reversion could be accomplished through nuclear manipulations. When subatomic particles are rearranged, objects are transformed. But when they are torn apart, their energy inverted, and then recomposed interdimensionally… Well, it’s quite befuddling. I’m still not sure how I pulled it off. My processes involved dicking around with electricity, strong magnets, metals, and a clusterfuck of unholy contraptions, most of which blew up in my face.

They revoked my permissions after the third trial failed, but I don’t blame them. It was disastrous.

I was no longer welcome in the physics lab or mechanics workshop, so I smuggled all of the supplies back to my dorm. (Thankfully, I didn’t have a roommate, and back then safety inspections were annual.) I made a makeshift table out of a large slab of plywood and placed it on top of my nightstand. Before long, it was littered with gizmos and gadgets.

This is getting boring, so I’ll skip ahead.

You know those film negatives that come with every photo you develop on an instant camera? That’s more or less the layman’s concept of antimatter, dark matter, and dark energy. An imprint, or a reverse image, if you will. Nothing you choose to compare them to can fully define them, because they literally do not exist to our senses. However, these terms are not synonymous- each is entirely different. A quick internet search will provide you with sufficient information.

Anyway, I wasted a year and a half trying to figure this shit out and I was running out of time. I had essays to write, exams to take, and just weeks left before I’d be booted out for the summer. I worked feverishly, only going outside to attend mandatory lectures and borrow research books. Day and night became one; I stopped sleeping and eating, and I hardly showered or drank.

Speaking of drinking, The Owl Hop shut down once Prohibition laws were enacted, which was fortunately not long after I had destroyed my potential relationship with Anna. I think I might’ve delved into this project just to stay sane. I had no desire to face my demons, so I kept running... but every man has a breaking point, and eventually I became too weak to carry on.

I succumbed to them on a late night in May, far past my wit’s end. I chucked the pocket-sized destabilizer at the assembled pile of junk, watching the static spark as I shook with frustration. I knew of a place that the fish frequented several blocks away, so I decided to chance my luck.

It was a seedy, abandoned shop basement filled with surly patrons. The atmosphere was nothing like that of the warm tavern that had become my second home. I wove through the throngs, handed a pocketful of change to a buster with shifty eyes, and was rewarded with nothing less than a bottle of coffin varnish.

It was the only time I actually blanked out. I'll never know what happened, but it wasn't good.

Near dawn, I found myself sprawled in the gutter outside. Sears of pain shot up my back when I tried to stand, and my head felt like someone shoved it in a monkey drum. Everything else ached dully. My vision had become blurrier than normal, and I fumbled around the cobblestones until I found my glasses underfoot.

It took a long while to get my ass off the ground, but I hobbled back to the dormitory and somehow managed to unlock my door. The last thing I remember was stumbling into the dark room and seeing faint blue currents coursing through the machine.


	5. Chapter 5

_Void._

 

I don’t know how long I was gone, but I do remember when it first tried to bring me back. I resisted. I felt so, so tired and so comfortable in the darkness that enveloped me, as if all of my problems had disappeared. Still, it persisted. It tugged at my sentience like an annoying sibling determined to wake you up. I eventually relented, “opening my eyes” to see... nothing. No color or lack thereof, no temperature, no noise... It suddenly dawned on me that I wasn’t breathing. In fact, I wasn’t doing anything. No facial features framed my vision, and I looked down at my hands only to find that they weren’t there. I went to touch my clothes and skin but there was (surprise) nothing. I felt trapped, trying to wake from what was surely a lucid dream. I could not.

I decided that I had either died or lost my last shred of sanity. It was terrifying to be fully aware and in control of all my senses but unable to use them.

I think I panicked enough to will myself back. I can’t explain what happened, but suddenly I was lying on the floor of my room. Everything was real again. My heart raced and I tried in vain to slow my breathing. I got up slowly, looking around. The pain was gone, as were all of my possessions. Stacks of cardboard boxes littered the area, and someone else’s luggage had been set on the bare spring mattress. At that point I launched into a tirade of expletives, running to the door. I tripped and fell through the threshold. Several of my peers were meandering in the hall, but they acted as if they didn’t see me.

“Hey! What sort of balled up bushwa are you serving?”

They didn't respond, so I got to my feet, marching towards them indignantly.

“I say, what is the meaning of this? Have I been doped? Robbed? Why are you all ignoring me?!”

I reached out to grab the one’s shoulder and turn him around, but my hand phased through him as if it were an illusion. He did shiver, glancing past me before resuming his conversation. I stumbled backwards, returning to my dorm in a shocked stupor.

              “... almost felt sorry for that sap. I guess he couldn’t handle it. He should’ve at least notified the headmaster, though. Packed up and left in the middle of the night, a week before finals. Cowardly, if you ask me.”

Keys jingled, and the doorknob turned. A familiar-looking tenant was helping a dark-skinned gentleman to move the remainder of his belongings into my room.

      “Well, thank you kindly, Ted! I owe ya.”

He closed the door behind him, locked two new locks, and turned the deadbolt. Then he sat down next to me, looking downright exhausted. It was creepy, but I had nothing better to do than linger. Over the next hour or so he unpacked, humming to himself. I used the time to recount the events that preceded this nonsense, reclining in midair.

After much musing, I concluded that my invention had been a success. After all, it was designed to alter molecules and make them essentially disappear from this dimension. I vaguely recalled the contraption glowing before I lost consciousness and (presumably) fell into it. I knew it was unstable, but had it destroyed everything in its vicinity, including itself?

 _... At least I can find solace in knowing I was right. It's a darn shame I can't shove it in the board’s face_.

In my peripheral I noticed him get up and stride to the opposite side of the room. Curious, I drew closer. He was carrying one of those neat personal radiowave transmitters, the kind you can tune to listen to music and broadcasts. I'd never seen one up close before. He untangled the wire and plugged it into the outlet on the wall before resuming his work. I wished I could fiddle around with it. Halfheartedly, I tried to turn the dial. An electrical current surged through me on contact, and I yelped in surprise. It broke sporadically across the surface of my being, sending tiny sparks flying. He freaked out. I freaked out. He swooned, but I managed to catch him before he hit the ground. I eased him upright against the bed, uttering creative variations of “what the fuck.”

I just sort of stood there, dumbfounded. Eventually, he regained consciousness and started screaming again.

“W-Wait, I-”

      “Oh god, nonononononoNO-”

He scrambled to his feet, grabbing a ruler.

      “Stay back! I’m warning you!”

I put my hands up, and he slowly edged towards the door, reaching behind him to fumble with the knob. We both realized that he needed the keys to get out, and they were conveniently left on the nightstand beside me. There was a pause before he charged head-on, wielding the wooden tool like a spear.

My turn to scream.

I was cornered, so I shut my eyes, bracing for impact.

Instead there was a thud, followed by a soft “oof”. I looked down to see him slumped at, er, in my feet. I was literally standing in the middle of him.

...

“I’m… just gonna-”

I stepped aside, kneeling next to him and offering a hand. He recoiled as if it were a landmine.

      “... Please don’t, my family needs me.”

“What? Oh, no, jeez! I’m not trying to hurt you!”

      ...

_He’s brave, I’ll give him that._

      “Then why are you here?

      ... What are you?”

“Excellent questions, but I’m afraid I lack answers at the present.”

I withdrew my hand, studying it. I maintained a pale semblance of my previous colors, but I’d best describe my state as translucent. My fingers moved normally, and they felt solid against each other. He reached out unexpectedly to poke my sleeve, and his finger phased past it. He jumped up, swiftly scooting away.

      “Oh god. That’s it, I need help. Who should I call? An exorcist? A psychiatrist?” He glanced at the still-smoking outlet. “... An electrician?”

I picked up the key ring, placing it next to him and heading to the door.

“Look, I don’t want trouble- I’ll leave you be. Sorry for knocking several years off your life, heh...”

      “Now wait just a doggone moment! Where do you think you’re going?”

“No clue.”

      “Then park your rear here.”

“But-”

      “No butts! You got me into this mess, and you’re not leaving now!”

“... I suppose that’s fair.”

 

* * *

 

      “Do you have a name?”

“Alastair! Alastair Kingston Gerhardt.”

      “Oh, for chriss- you’re the fella who lived here?”

“Yes.”

      “They said he dropped out... I need a drink.”

“I’d caution you against the watering hole on fifth street. I almost died.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

      “I’d be good as dead if I got caught in such a place.”

He opened a suitcase, hung up the pieces inside, and then removed a bundle of fabric, which he unraveled to reveal a flat wooden box.

      “You’re not to tell a soul.”

“I don’t think that will be an issue.”

He lifted the vertical plank on one end, then tilted the box slightly until the first vial slid out. He downed it like a shot, put the cork back in, and returned it, replacing the plank and swaddling his precious cargo again.

“Fucking incredible.”

He kicked back on the now-made bed, heaving a sigh.

      “... Oh, right. My name is Winston Peters.”

“Nice to meet you.”

      “Yep.”

Awkward silence.

      “... How stressed do you have to be to start experiencing hallucinations?”

...

“Will you be alright?”

      “Never been, never will,” he laughed.

“Oh.”

He closed his eyes.

      “So, what’s your deal, anyway?”

“Er, well- ”

      “Actually, I don’t think I want to know. Goodnight.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

We were awoken in the morning by a rapping at the door. He rose groggily to answer it.

      “Who’s it?”

            “Me.”

      “Ok.”

He undid the locks on the door and opened it.

            “Winston, dear, what happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

I recognized her voice instantly, and my heart stopped.

He helped her out of her coat and she stepped into the room, looking around.

“H-Hello, Anna.”

They carried on as if I wasn’t there, and I soon realized that I wasn’t. But I was before?

I considered using conduction again.

_This would be a bad time to make myself known. Should I go? How could I ever approach him again?_

_..._

_His hand is on her waist. She’s touching his chest now. Oh, god, I can’t look. I must leave and never come back._ _  
_

Silly me made to phase past the wall, and forgot that electricity ran through it.

Seriously, did no one outside hear the screaming?

 

* * *

 

             “... Alastair, is that you?! What the FUCK?”

“Sorry!”

      “Wait, that was real? Do you two know each other?”

            “I repeat: What the fuck?!”

“Sorry, so sorry! I’m sorry.”

            “That doesn’t fix anything! WHAT is going on?”

“I’ll let Winston explain. Goodbye forever.”

      “What?!”

I poofed into nonexistence, still retaining a charged connection to the physical dimension.

            “... I know you can hear me. Get your weird ass back here, now.”

There was no reason for me to comply, but I did.

            “Thank you.”

I fiddled with a tail hem on my vest, wanting nothing more than to disappear again.

“I swear, I had no intention to lurk. I’m sorry. I, uh, I’m happy for you both… but not in a voyeur sense.”

I continued to blink back tears, looking away to avoid further embarrassment.  

            “Then why are you here?

            ... What happened to you?”

Uncomfortable silence.

      “This was his room, Ann. He’s fucking dead.”

            “... Oh. Oh my heavens, I- I. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve blown up at you like that...”

“I brought it on myself; you needn’t pity me. Besides, I wouldn’t blame you after all I’d put you through.”

            “... Alastair, did you... ?”

“What? Oh, god no! It was an accident-”

      “Wait a minute, were you two-"

“No!”               “No!”

            “... I mean, we went on one date.”

“And it was absolutely terrible.”

            “I wouldn’t say that.”

“I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

            “I didn’t know how to feel, honestly. It was awkward, for sure, but now I understand that you’re... a complicated gent.”

I raised an eyebrow.

            “Ok, so you’ve got problems. You know, it didn’t have to go that way. I see no reason why the only men in a woman’s life must be family and suitors.”

...

            “We could have been _friends_. We had a gay old time performing together, didn’t we?”

I forced myself to meet her gaze. My voice cracked as I choked out an “I missed you.”

            “... Would you like a hug?”

I nodded hesitantly. She embraced me and I clung to her.

I almost forgot Winston was there until he shuffled over and wrapped an arm around each of us.

...

      “What? I like hugs, too.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m just devastated. All my writings, formulas, computations… even the dastardly doohickey itself. Gone, like a contained implosion. I don’t know what I did, but there’s no way I can recreate it.”

      “It’s probably for the best. What would you have done with it, anyway? If it hadn’t failed.”

“That’s just the thing! It did work! It confirmed my theories. But I realize now that no mortal can control these forces.

... Imagine a machine like that operating at a greater magnitude. Everything in its proximity would be lost to the void.”

I paced throughout my monologues, using exaggerated tones and gestures and waving my arms around for emphasis every now and then.

“I mean, I’m in a semi-physical state at present. But we’re surrounded by an unsensed world, and it’s infinitely incomprehensible. Multiple dimensions, even! Why, I’ve reason to believe that our physicality is but a drop in the ocean of universal composition.

If such knowledge fell into the wrong hands... If someone else had these abilities... I shudder to think. I guess it is for the better that my work was destroyed.”

            “So, what you’re saying is monkeys shouldn’t be taught to build bombs.”

“Essentially.”

      “You must explain this to your family. I’m sure they’re devastated.”

“Well, actually, I don’t have one. Heh. I should check on my cat, though. Been months since I last saw her.”

      “Still, it’d be good for you to go outside and socialize. You could probably pass as a normal person from afar.”

            “Yeah, maybe with a bit of makeup and a coat-”

“I’d rather not, but thanks.”

            “Well, what are you going to do? Hide and sneak around zapping things?”

“Sounds quite appealing.”

...

“Just joshing. I must say, I am basking in your attention and concern.”

Anna flung a ball of socks at my face, and I laughed as it hit the wall behind me.

“You needn’t fret over me; I’ll figure it out.”

            “To date, that hasn’t worked for you.”

“How on Earth did you come up with such a notion? Your words are wounding.”

            Eye roll.

Winston rolled a can back and forth with his foot idly as he reclined.

      “Look, I’ve no qualms about you staying here so long as you don’t start trouble. But I agree with Anna- you need ways to pass the time. You’re still very much a part of this world! Go find yourself some adventures!”

...

“Alright, alright. I’ll try to get a life.”

 

* * *

 

             “I can’t believe you’re still wearing that silly thing... It was only made for the stage.”

“Honestly, I’ve grown rather fond of it. It’s comfy and flattering, plus it’s got pockets!

... Also, it, ah. It reminded me of you, of simpler times. Pretty pathetic, right?”

She chortled, shaking her head.

            “If I’d known you liked it so much, I’d’ve tailored a proper wardrobe for you.

            Mister Gerhardt, you are a downright adorable disaster. How old even is that shirt?”

“Beats me. I found it when I was cleaning out my aunt’s attic.”

            “Lordy... It could very well have been hers.”

“Enough about my fashion follies; what’ve you been up to?”

            “I’ve got a new job as a mobile seamstress, but I still entertain in my freetime.”

“Oh? Where at?”

            “It’s... under the table. You’re welcome to accompany me Saturday night!”

“I’m a busy guy, Anna. I’ll have to check my schedule.”

...

“Ok, I don’t see why not.”

 

* * *

 

Winston stayed in, so I waited alone at the end of her street as per instruction. It was a cool, clear night, better suited for spring than autumn. I loitered in the shadow of the streetlamp until she appeared in new handmade attire. Her black hair was styled in a chic bob with a headband, and she wore dark makeup with a loose-fitting, sparkly dress under a satin shawl.

“... You look absolutely stunning.”

            “I know,” she giggled, striking a dramatic pose.

I tugged at my clothes, trying to smooth out wrinkles and neaten my hair. She adjusted my bowtie.

            “Don’t worry, you look fine. It’s always jam-packed and dimly lit. Just... try not to do anything ghostly, ok?”

I nodded, charging one last time through the currents in the pole. I’d learned to control my energy enough to keep it from sparking, and I’d studied my reflection for quite some time before departing, but I was still uneasy.

“Shall we?”

            “We shall.”

I intended to escort her, but I had no idea where we were going. She led me for several blocks, then turned down a side street to a house with a quaint backyard. She approached the storm cellar door, tapping her shoe on it several times. After a moment, someone peered through a curtain and opened the latch from the inside.

                     “Ah, Anna! Right on time.”

He offered his arm as she stepped down into the room.

            “Don, this is my... friend, Al.”

 _Al? What the hell kind of name is that?_ _  
_

                    “Pleased to meet you!”

He extended a hand, which I politely rejected, staying as far away as possible as I scuttled into the room after her.

“Hello! Sorry, bit under the weather.”

            “He so kindly offered to accompany me.”

                    “Good, because you’re all we’ve got! It’s been awfully drab tonight.”

The cellar smelt of musty cedar. She was right- there were maybe two lightbulbs in the vicinity and it was bustling with patrons.

There was a makeshift stage on the opposite side, where she retrieved her case. She set up a microphone, then pulled a stool over to sit on, tuning her acoustic guitar.

I stayed close to her, feeling incredibly out of place. Leaning in, I whispered, “So... what should I do?”

She looked surprised.

            “Why, what you do best! Come on, it’ll be just like old times.”

I couldn't recall the last time I performed sober. There was so much noise, so little space... What if I faltered and botched it up, or zapped the microphone and unleashed utter chaos-

           “Ready?”

“Absotively posilutely not! No, not at all."

            ...

I sighed.

"Let's do this.”

 

We started with some of our older tunes, then a few popular ones that we had previously performed. A couple folks danced along while the others laughed and talked amongst themselves. After an hour or so she went on break, and I trailed after her to the front porch.

She lit a long, slender cigarette, exhaling wisps of smoke into the chilled air.

            “You were aces out there! I don’t think we’ve ever sounded better.”

“Really?”

            “Yes, really. Now, tell me: have you got any new songs up your sleeve? Written anything at all since The Owl Hop closed?”

I briefly considered the half-dozen sob stories scrawled out over a year of wallowing in self-pity and loneliness.

“Nope, sorry.”

            “Rats... S’ok. We'll just have to stick with the usual.”

The experience felt so familiar, yet entirely new. A different perspective, perhaps. I felt a twinge of jealousy towards the drunkies, but at the same time, I didn’t want to return to that state. I might add that it’s easier to make such a bold resolution when you physically can’t drink anymore.

 _At least I’m not stuck in a permanent hangover._ _  
_

The night went off without a hitch, and I felt a huge wave of relief as we left.

“What a blast! I can’t wait to come back. And they didn’t suspect a thing!”

            “No siree.”

We returned to her house all too soon, and I bade her goodnight. It was well after two in the morning- she must’ve had a routine to avoid waking her father.

Carefree and jubilant, I roamed the empty streets.


	7. Chapter 7

Static electricity and cats do not mix, but we had a joyful reunion. Sophie’s old, for sure, but she looks like she hasn’t aged a day. I missed her something awful, and was tempted to steal her away. She was better off there, though, so I resigned to visiting as often as possible. For some reason, she can sense when I'm nearby, and she appears to see and hear me even when I'm out of the interactive sector. I don't know how that's possible, but I hope to find out.

 

* * *

 

We entertained every Saturday and Sunday night. It was the highlight of my week, and each five-hour shindig ended all too quickly. I chatted up the other musicians when they were there, and we had fun collaborating.

I started adventuring outdoors, but I wasn't comfortable being seen without Anna. If no one was awake in the vicinity, I would keep my form and dick around like normal. It was so liberating, being apart from the living world; I imagine a dewdropper would feel the same.

_No responsibilities, no corporal needs, no aging, no mortality... Nothing, for eternity._

_... Perhaps that's less of a pro than con._

But the ability to just disappear, to soar with the winds, to experience freedom in its purest form...

It's goddamn euphoria.

I broke the cycle. I broke the fundamental laws of our known universe and escaped my physical confines.

_Nothing can touch me! I'll never have another reason to feel trapped._

I couldn't’ve imagined this would happen- I had no idea what I was tampering with. In retrospect, my efforts were a bit unorthodox... I was so preoccupied with what I could accomplish that I didn't stop to evaluate possible ramifications.

I suppose I anticipated the creation of a tool that would function as a portal of sorts with which to prove my theories and investigate The Unknown. I still don't know what I screwed up to make it work, but I guess it's for the better. I wouldn't trust anyone with that knowledge, especially not myself.

Past me would have throttled myself for this change in disposition... In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the most stable person.  

_I'm still finding it hard to wrap my head around all of this. I don't know what to think. More importantly, I still have no idea what I am or what I'm capable of. The thought that I might be dangerous never crossed my mind in my early interactions with Anna and Winston. It’s easy to move between states and control my physicality; flying and phasing are as easy as feeling and thinking._

The more time passed, the more I began to question.

_How is it that I can harness electromagnetic energy for my own purposes? How am I able to exist, period? Do I exist?_

I was ready to learn through trial and error. If I can do the things that my machine was supposed to, well, it's not to be taken lightly.

I began experimenting in the junkyard outside of town. Plenty of privacy and space, nothing in harm’s way. I practiced different methods of channeling energy, starting with static exchanges and electrocution- nothing fancy. It requires active concentration, conducting electricity in specific fashions to accomplish given tasks.

After a good while, I felt confident enough to attempt particle manipulation. It was a slow and painstaking process, requiring focus on an individual molecular level. When I say slow, I mean slow. I barely grazed the surface over the following months.

I passed chemistry by the skin of my teeth back in the day, so I freshened up on elemental composition and the likes, beginning to transform existing materials through the rearrangement of subatomic particles. I copied a number of basic sequences and diagrams from library texts into my journal to use as references.  

Over the years, I discovered that I have a number of unrelated quirks. I can fuse matter with antimatter to create and control photons, allowing me to bend light into illusions. I can also move objects from afar by inverting their surrounding gravity, resulting in what might be considered telekinesis. However, all of these tasks require physical energy, so even the simplest action drains me. I inadvertently found that I can scale my size down at will, which allows me to exist for longer periods of time without needing to recharge. Switching between micro and macroscopic vision without changing is a pain… I can’t increase my size past default or shrink objects, but I have no desire to. Enlarging inanimate objects, however, may be possible- I've yet to delve into that. I’ve also learned how to enter and phase through electricity-powered objects to harness their functions or charge without causing them to short-circuit or manifesting, which was possibly the most helpful skill. When I’m formless, I can travel rather quickly, as simply seeing where I want to be makes it possible to project my sentience there.

Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of my work is just trying to comprehend all of these sciencey things and do them right...

 

* * *

 

“- and so I wonder, perhaps if I had some sort of guardian growing up aside from nuns with switches, maybe I wouldn't’ve gotten so fucked up? I mean, it's still my fault and I've got to sort it out, but tots are clueless snot-balls and they need to be raised properly. Sophie’s the best, but there's only so much human malarkey a kit can help with... Not to mention, she's got her own life! She's quite chummy with old Ollie, which is a big deal considering I could never get closer than two yards away before he'd high-tail it outta there... It's just the way he is. I tried not to take it personally, but there's something about being disliked by a critter that really cuts deep, you know? She's a lot more extroverted and affectionate than the average feline; she might as well be half-pup! It's nice because she's still independent and doesn't require constant attention, but-”

      “Al. Pal. Please don't take this the wrong way- I like listening to you, but I'm currently being crushed by biochemistry and I gotta study! Could you perhaps, I dunno, write this stuff down instead? In that little book you carry. I think it’d be beneficial to the both of us, because it's good to put words down on paper and be able to look back at them, especially on bad days. Save it all, have it in one place, yeah?”

“Sorry, yeah.”

      “No need to apologize! You're a little fella with big thoughts and feelings, and it's important to acknowledge ‘em.”

“I guess... This is all fairly new to me; I don't know how the two of you can stand my absurdities.”

      “Hey now, be kind. You know you're neato and we enjoy your company.”

“Sorry.”

He smiled tiredly, patting me on the back before resuming his reading.

 

* * *

 

            "What's wrong, sweetpea?"

"Oh! Sorry, I thought you left."

            "Just went to powder my nose."

"... I guess I've fallen into a slump. Haven't been feeling quite up-to-snuff for the past couple of weeks."

            "Well, I've got a solution!"

"You do?"

            "We're going to dance our problems away!"

      "... Ann, I don't think this is-"

             "I'm taking you swing dancing, and that's that! Trust me- you'll love it! We'll practice until you're good and ready, but it is imperative that we go out for the real deal."

"What?! No, I can't!!"

             "You absolutely can. I've got a bottle of super-light foundation, and I'm sure Winston won't mind if you borrow his clothes."

      "Gonna need to take them in quite a bit... Also, I don't have anything formal. We only took a couple classes together; I couldn't afford-"

             "Then I'll just have to whip up some new rags for the both of you!"

"No, no-"

She pulled a ribbon of measuring tape out of her purse and skipped over to me. I scrambled away like a dog from a syringe-wielding vet. 

             "Come here, you silly willy!"

"Noooooooooooo-"

She chased me around the room for a while, eventually relenting and sitting on the floor with a pout. I made the mistake of looking at her and was socked in the face with pure guilt.

"... Please stop that."

            "Stop what?"

_"That."_

I gestured to her overall posture and expression. 

            "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

Winston watched silently, amused. 

"... Guh, fine. But if anything goes wrong, you're entirely to blame."

            "Booya!"

 

* * *

 

She somehow got her hands on a record player and several disks, and returned that evening for my first lesson. 

We started out slow, then picked up the pace for fast tempo songs. I'm a rather uncoordinated oaf with the grace of a deer on ice, but she wouldn't give up. Despite my six inches over her, I'm not strong enough to lift her without using my powers... As if that wasn't embarrassing enough, she decided to take the male role. 

Over the following weeks, she sewed a pretty spiffy outfit for me- on debut night, I was able to temporarily will away my clothes to wear it. When I came out of the bathroom, I was met with cheers and aggressive makeup-ing. She painted layers of foundation from my hands to elbows and collarbones up, then doused me in so much sealing powder that I sneezed. 

            "What's the golden rule?" she sang, fluffing my hair with color while Winston made some finishing touches.

"Stay physical," I sighed.

            "Excellent, now let's shake a leg!"

      "Try not to have too much fun," he chuckled.

 

As predicted, we all had a fantastic time, followed by many more. 

[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ey0amajXhvw)

 

* * *

 

**3 AM, post-gig**

 

                           “Mmf! No!”

I froze, looking around. The source of the sound was half a block away and I disappeared, reaching it instantly.

Alley. Middle-aged man. Younger woman. I won’t describe it, but luckily I arrived before anything happened.

I wasn't there, which made it all the more surprising when he fell to the ground, convulsing as if tasered. He quickly lost consciousness, and she rose to her feet, eyes filled with terror.

_Ok, great, now what do I do?_

I appeared at the corner and ran over.

“Miss, are you alright? I heard a commotion.”

She was pretty shaken up, so I made no further inquiries.

I saw her to her destination, still unsure what happened. I obviously couldn’t file a police report, but I had little faith that one would accomplish anything in this situation.

I returned to the alley, contemplating. He had dropped a blade, and I stared at it for a moment before deciding that this was an opportune time to test my skills.

I channeled my energy through the space between, and began to separate its molecules. I suspended it in midair as it disintegrated, letting the metallic dust settle on the ground as I weighed my options.

(Let me clarify that I do not encourage violence, and I would not have done it if there was a viable alternative. It was quick and painless; castration is too extreme a term.)

He was still unconscious when I left, but otherwise fine. I returned to the dorm and spoke nothing of it. It was downright repulsive.

 

* * *

 

The radio reporter droned on monotonously, reading off the daily news as Winston worked on assignments and I logged.

            “... Police are searching for the woman who reportedly attacked a local priest on his nightly stroll.”

“Ffwc!”

            “He claims that she knocked him out before... robbing him of his package. The motives are unknown, and no further evidence has been found.”

      “Yeowch. Wouldn’t want to be that sad sack.”

I groaned, setting my book down mid-entry.

“You think they’ll find her?”

      “Highly doubt it. The story itself is preposterous enough.”

I hoped he was right.

 

I kept myself busy and was able to dull my anxiety significantly. I’d almost forgotten about it until I saw him again.

A wave of dread and rage passed over me. I wagered that there was no way I could possibly make the situation worse, so I followed him back to his rectory.

He shut the door behind him, flicking the switch on the wall.

_Alright, let’s have some fun._

I remained out of the field of vision, short-circuiting the lights. He spun around, visibly frightened.

                  “Who’s there?! I have a pistol!”

My laugh echoed through the room.

                  “Get out, or I’ll shoot!”

 _“Death has no hold on my kind.”_ _  
_

Lightning flashed through the room as an unnatural shadow of my creation approached him, limbs long and teeth sharp.

 _“You will close the investigation, and you will never again lay a hand in malice. If you fail to comply, you will know a far worse fate. Is that clear?”_ _  
_

He nodded silently, eyes wide.

 _“Good. And remember, I am always watching.”_ _  
_

For dramatic effect, I opened a window and spun a gust of wind through the room. Satisfied with my performance, I left.

 

* * *

 

      “You’re in rare form today. What happened?”

“Eh? ... Er, well, you could say I had a religious experience. It’s a tad personal, but I think I’ve found my calling.”

      “Good on you, sport.”


	8. Chapter 8

I suppose I have more of a life now than I did when I was alive. I spend each day however I please, and when the sun goes down I become a part of the world. Nightlife entails entertainment, abundant sources of energy, distortions of darkness and drunkenness that allow me to assimilate with the living, and ass-kicking aplenty. Granted, there’s very little crime here so I’ve taken to roaming nearby cities. I probably inspired a number of b-list horror movies, but hey, it’s not my fault that so many awful people exist. It became my self-appointed duty to serve as a vigilante, a silent protector.

In short, I thought I'd finally found a purpose; I could make the world a better place, all that jazz. The majority of my interpersonal interactions were positive, and I felt genuinely happy for the first time in a long time.

_Gosh, I fucking love people._

 

* * *

 

**Three months later**

 

I wisped in through the window, collapsing on the bed with a heavy sigh. Poofing most of my attire into nonexistence, I closed my eyes and let my lower half disappear.

Winston glanced over from his desk, knowing by now not to engage me in this state.

“I give up. I fucking hate people.”

      “Rough night?”

“Trust me, you don't want to know.

...

How do you do it?”

      “Do what?”

He continued to plink out an essay on his newly acquired typewriter.

“You're a man of strong virtue, Winston, and you have seemingly limitless tolerance for the cruel and asinine. How do you do it? How do you avoid becoming cold and callous?”

He finished typing his current line, then let it slide with a ding. Pushing his chair back, he stretched a bit and turned to face me.

      “You don't need to feather my hat, mate. I'm just a guy trying to do what he has to. Taking it one day at a time, you know?”

“But you're a good person who makes the right decisions. I’m not.”

      “What's this about, now?”

“I've not been dealt a quarter of your adversities, and I'd been quite fortunate in life- I never wanted for anything, nor had to work to survive. I… It's not fair.”

      “This is getting a tad patronizing.”

“Sorry!”

He massaged his temples, closing his eyes.

      “You meant well, but I'm at a loss with this meaningful spiritual advice- I can't pretend to know what's what. Some folks claim to, and they're full of it. That's the last place you should seek answers.

      I don't think there's any sense to the way cards are dealt. There's good and bad in everyone, happiness is relative, everything changes, yadayadayada. Even morals are subjective, so I won't drag my personal beliefs into this… Ultimately, though… it's… well, you-”

There was a knock at the door. He smirked, getting up.

      “Just in time.”

“Wait, could you finish that thought?”

He let Anna in, and they embraced. I looked away like a prude.

             “Oh, morning Al!”

_God, I hate that name._

“Good morning.”

She cast her coat and bag on the floor, sitting next to me on his bed.

      “Alastair was just asking me the meaning of life.”

            “Oh, dear. That's quite a doozy.”

“Would you care to give your two cents?”

            “Is it really necessary? We ought to let Winston finish his work.”

      “How considerate, thank you.”

We each minded our own business for the time being, I jotting down his previous words and she mending a tear on his jacket. After another fifteen minutes or so, he called it quits.

            “You know, it's a beautiful morning. Care to go for a stroll while the park’s still empty?”

      “Ab-so-lutely.”

“But I thought you were going to enlighten me.”

            “Lord, Alastair! Can't we enjoy our lives?” she chuckled.

“Sorry, yeah, have a good time.”

      “Come with us!”

“... I should probably rest.”

            “Oh come now, ghosts don't need sleep. Let yourself be happy!”

“I, I don't- Sorry... I'll stay here.”

      “It's alright. Do what you want.”

I remained awkward and rigid as Winston patted my shoulder and Anna kissed the top of my head. Worrying my lower lip, I watched them prepare to leave. Without warning, I zipped in front of the door and hugged them, blinking back tears.

“I love you.”

            “... We love you too, ya goof. We'll be back in a bit.”

 

They returned by the time the sun had fully risen, dousing the room in soft light. Winston placed a paper bag full of groceries on the counter, filling the kettle with water and igniting the single stovetop burner. Anna began to unpack the staples, setting aside a loaf of raisin bread.

      “Care for a cuppa?”

“Heh.”

            “Yes, please!”

They settled down at the table, Winston pulling out his chair for her and opting to sit on the crate.

            “My, ever the gentleman~”

There was a third, empty cup for me, a gesture I found both endearing and hilarious.

I fidgeted with it, tracing the floral patterns with my thumbs as I perched on the sill.

“... I know I've mentioned it before, but really, if you ever want space-”

      “We'd tell you. You're only here half the time, anyway! We've got plenty of privacy.”

            “You're stuck with us, mister! After all, you're a part of this family.”

...

_Family?_

Countless thoughts rushed through my head as I sat there, dumbstruck. It was such a casual remark, and yet...

Winston nudged Anna, looking purposefully in my direction. I snapped out of my trance, unsure how much time had passed.

            “... Everything alright? You're a bit paler than usual.”

      “You're not going to faint again, are you?”

I shook my head, apologizing once more as I set the cup down. We carried on, and I found myself reciprocating their warm smiles.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of the entries from this point forward have been discarded or condensed for publication, because my daily life wasn't all that interesting. If you hadn't noticed yet, I tend to summarize, erase, and modify bits of each log retroactively. Don't want to bore you to death, heheh.

 

* * *

 

Anna is a very talented actress, a free spirit who's kept a secret life since she was old enough to spread her wings. Sent to school only to learn etiquette and homemaking skills, maintaining the facade of a subservient, helpless dame. As a child, she found an outlet in church singing and regularly snuck off to the library to read and journal. In adolescence, she developed her own methods of self-defense and used her quick wit and skills to begin shaping her identity. Her adapted demeanor of compliance and humility helped deflect unwanted attention and encourage the overlooking of her potential.

Naturally, she had to become a flapper. She fabricated a busy schedule to buy extra free time, and had a couple old friends who understood her situation and helped her get by, providing resources, support, and space for her to work. She was thriving in the spotlight by the time I teamed up with her. She met Winston at her job later on, and they hit it off.

Why did she have to go to so much trouble to maintain two separate identities? Her mother was a Korean immigrant and she died in labor, leaving her to be brought up by her monster of a father and his relatives. He was a dunderheaded klansman, hate-filled and extremely possessive of Anna, yet a well-respected and established member of the community. Not a favorable combination for Winston, so they kept their relationship covert. Once he finished at Champlain, she planned to move out West and stay with his family while he furthered his education and became a practicing physician. And they did, but not without unnecessary drama and peril.

It started in his third year, when her father found her assorted performance attire stowed in a box in the back of her armoire. He couldn't get an explanation from her, but punishment was still delivered. She was then made to take them outside and set a fire in the tin trashbin, watching until they were past salvage. It goes unsaid that there were no more nightly funtimes for us.

They wouldn't let me terrorize him while she was living there, so I resigned to trailing her for safety. He constantly overstepped her boundaries, going through her belongings, attempting to keep her under his thumb with absurd rules, and so forth. He only grew more suspicious with time, and he caught her in a lie shortly after Winston had graduated. He showed up unannounced at a location she said she'd be at, and no one covered for her. Enraged, he waited up and confronted her once she got home. She told him that she was leaving to avoid him sending out a search and rescue party or hiring a private detective, which was unfortunately within the realm of possibility. He locked her in the basement, so I played messenger. Winston packed up and bought train tickets that day, and I retrieved her essentials. Before dawn, I busted her out. I probably could have just unlocked the door and led her back through the house, but I wanted to be extra. I dissolved the warped glass brick window, floating her through. She gave me an exasperated look as I reassembled it.

I suppose I was eager to flaunt my prowess.

As added security measures, I bent the light around her and levitated her several inches off the ground to prevent noise and footprints. We met Winston in silence, boarding with him when the train arrived. He sat next to the invisible lady, and she didn't appear to enter until four stops later, handing her ticket to the oblivious conductor. She reclaimed her seat, surreptitiously entwining her hand with Winston’s under her purse and closing her eyes. I finally recharged, sneaking off unbeknownst to them to deliver a smidge of justice.

It was a long-ass trip to Arizona. He had used the campus telegram to notify his parents prior to departure, and within several days we reached our destination. They met them with his younger siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents at the platform, and it was all good from there.

Mostly.

I'm sure you know what went down from the twenties to forties; this isn't a history book. Winston established his own practice, but more importantly, he grew a magnificent handlebar mustache. Anna aged gracefully, her black bob growing into long salt-and-pepper hair that she often pinned up in a loose bun.

His successes brought him much wealth and prestige, and he achieved his dream of supporting his family. He and Anna never had children, opting to live quite charitable lives. They purchased a large ranch, turning most of the land into lush gardens and using the barn as an animal shelter of sorts. Of course, he also provided free care for the underprivileged in his spare time. Saints, I tell you.

I learned a good deal about physiology while assisting them and honed in on my healing abilities, but only when necessary. (I'm rather squeamish, and it doesn't help to be prone to passing out.) They occasionally still dressed me up so I could mingle and be seen during the day. Winston's family is as warm-hearted and tight-knit as they come- the only "downside" is they're all huggers, so I have to take extra precautions.

When World War II rolled around, he was drafted for medical service. I accompanied him, vanishing for a bit of gross sobbing while they parted.

It goes unsaid that it was horrible in every way.

He saved a lot of civilians and soldiers. I tried to help, but I needed electricity to function and he was far better at emergency patch-ups.

I went off one day to sabotage a small internment camp, and returned to find our tents collapsed, smoke billowing from the main building. I darted through the wreck, almost entirely abandoned.

It took me several minutes to find him.

Of course he would stay behind. He would do anything to protect those in his care.

He was sprawled across the ground, tangled in canvas. I walked, then ran, yelling his name.

He was unconscious. I disintegrated the bloody fabric, finding the sources. Aside from the obvious gashes, there were numerous internal injuries. I used my energy to sense fractured ribs and... several bulletholes tunneling the center of his back, puncturing organs and grazing his spine before exiting his chest. He had stopped breathing, and his pulse was barely palpable. I closed my eyes, shaking and fighting back tears.

_I need to keep it together. It’s not too late, he’s not going to die, he-_

I snapped. I don't know how else to describe it.

Everything went dark as I emitted a long, otherworldly shriek, diffusing into the sky. My sentience divided and spread in all directions. I harnessed and stole electricity from everything I could find, drawing it out like static charge. Vehicles, planes, communicators, generators, lights... It happened rather quickly, not unlike an explosion turned implosion.

Now exuding an overabundance of power, I hovered above him, channeling all of my energy through his broken body and manipulating it to its furthest extent.

At dawn the next day I set water down beside him, finally fading.

I looked on with relief as he rested, no remaining indications of trauma aside from his surroundings.

He lived.

He came home when it was over, and resumed a normal life. He wasn't terribly shaken up despite all that he had experienced. He was the sort of person who always bounced back- a fucking brave, resilient soul, unlike me.

My life was never on the line; I experienced everything vicariously. I had no reason to be disturbed, but, as usual, my subconscious ignored logic.

I moved on, eventually. I became slightly less stable and harsher in my vigilante work, blowing off steam by haunting and scaring the daylights out of shitheads.

In the mid-fifties, I decided to start traveling. It was hard to watch them grow old; I might as well have Peter Pan Syndrome. I suppose I did worry about aging and the burdens that accompany it when I was alive, but what I feared most was the deterioration and inevitable loss of loved ones.

I didn't take well to Sophie’s passing in Winston’s junior year; it helped to already be accustomed to separation and to know she lived a full, happy life, but coping with her absence was a female dog. Near the end, I considered trying to revitalize her cells, keeping her young forever. I doubted my ability to do so and I feared hurting her, not trusting myself to tamper with the laws of nature again… so I stayed by her side for the entirety of her last two weeks, radiating positive energy as I cradled her in my arms.

She was at peace.

It took a long time for me to accept that, and I unintentionally raised my emotional barriers. I didn't know how to reconnect with the people who meant the world to me, who had become my world, but they supported me through it and I was eventually able to make myself vulnerable again.

As time passed, the dread returned. Each close call left me frazzled; I was never prepared and I didn't know how to regain strength. Now, it felt like watching parents age. They were perfectly content and fulfilled; they had hardships like anyone else but they cherished each moment, always seeking fun, new experiences and never slowing in spirit or love.

I wasn't ready, but for fuck’s sake, they hadn't even turned sixty yet.

I used to joke that they were the only good people in this backwards world, the only ones I’d ever want to be around. They'd admonish me, and I knew I was wrong, but the concept of forming relationships with others was terrifying.

I could only avoid it for so long.

Despite everything, I'm still human, and humans are apparently social creatures. Maybe I’d find an island of cats on which to spend my days. Maybe I'd balance out my “crime-fighting” with performances again. Maybe I’d even attempt to make friends.

With one last hug, I promised to stay in touch via technological possessions and physical visits. They playfully shoved me out the door, telling me again to go have an adventure.

 

I did.

 


End file.
